


mac and dennis fake date

by anastea



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Canon-Typical Everything, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Fake Dating, M/M, [slaps this fic] this baby can fit so much self-loathing in it, watch out... this show is Problematic. lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastea/pseuds/anastea
Summary: this fic does what it says it does. dennis hates himself, mac pretends to date him, plans fall apart.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 15
Kudos: 119





	mac and dennis fake date

“You should tell him,” she giggles. 

The “she” in question is a decidedly less attractive friend to the very attractive woman sitting opposite Dennis, on a stool at a high table at, you guessed it, Paddy’s Pub. It’s 9:45pm on a Friday. Philadelphia, PA.

“I can’t,” the attractive woman (Kelsey? Kandi?) laughs, doing that thing women do where they sheepishly duck their heads, bat their eyelashes, etc, etc, the way they say “I can’t” when they really mean “convince me.” Dennis is bored. He’s four drinks deep and it’s taking all the willpower he can muster to focus on Kelsey/Kandi/Kayleigh and her idiotic blabber and her too-red-to-be-real hair and her too-big-to-be-real tits. He doesn’t usually go for gingers but it’s okay if he can tell it’s fake. Anyway he can tell all of it’s fake, and he feels fake, and god, didn’t this used to be easier? Didn’t he used to like this, before he got old and pathetic and useless, before the only thing that could get his dick to so much as twitch in the presence of inane twenty-somethings was the thought of it being over and sheer, concentrated will? Sometimes all he can do to get off is imagine an award ceremony where he’s being presented with a trophy for like, world’s best cock, or most women banged, congrats on being the universe’s most incredible heterosexual, you finally won. And then, of course, afterwards, he’ll remember he hasn’t really won anything at all. Nothing but a half-assed orgasm and another phone number to block.

“Tell me _what_ ,” he coos, leaning forward, pretending, desperately, to give a shit. Usually it works if he pretends hard enough.

“You tell him,” says Kelsey/Kandi/Kaleigh/Karen. 

“Well,” says the friend, giving the redhead a mischievous look, “Katie and her husband are looking for… well.” She laughed. “Her husband recently told her he is... bisexual!” 

Ugh, oh god. Not another threesome request. He can’t do this. “Interesting,” he says aloud, wanting to shove a gun in his mouth and blow his brains out. 

“So they’re looking for a gay couple to have a foursome with.” 

Dennis already has his line prepared for turning down a threesome - _not interested in men, ladies, now if it was two beautiful women like you and your friend here, we could talk, but_ \- but he stops in his tracks. A - what? “I’m sorry, did you say _four_ some?” 

Katie buries her face in her hands. “Ugh, so embarrassing,” she says, and Dennis wishes she would stop with the act, god, it was annoying. “Yeah, so, I know what you’re thinking, but we’ve had threesomes before, and we just always feel like they’re so, like, uneven?” She giggles. “If there’s four everyone always has a partner at least, you know? And I’m not into women so we can’t have like, a straight couple, you know.” 

Dennis blinks, stupefied. Katie might win that most incredible heterosexual award for genuinely wanting to be in bed with three men aggressively going at it. Because of course, this is obviously about her. It was clear from the second she started talking. She wants this and she’s using her bi husband as a front. Dennis has been in plenty of perfectly balanced threesomes, thank you very much, so that’s a bogus excuse. Dennis’ mind whirs and realization clicks into place. “Oh, and so you’re here talking to me, because-” 

“Well, we’ve come here a couple times and we’ve seen you around with your boyfriend,” the friend says. Dennis’ hands curl into fists under the table. He focuses on his breathing. _Anger management,_ he thinks to himself, _anger management, Dennis, anger fucking management. Boyfriend? Haha. Boyfriend?! Ha._ “And we just thought, you know, you’re cute, and he’s like, really hot, so.”

You can never ask Dennis why women always think he’s gay, because if you do, he’ll go so red and purple in the face you’ll worry he might need to go to the hospital, and then he’ll unleash the foulest, most violent string of obscenities you can imagine, and somewhere in there he might get a coherent argument across about stereotypes and well-dressed men and makeup and how much he just really loves pussy, but only sometimes. The point remains. Dennis has never in his life, even once, thought about touching another man’s penis, and the fact that something about him, something he can never, ever place, makes other people think he has - well. If anything is going to send him to an institution - and many, many things (and some people!) in his life have threatened to send him to an institution - it’ll be this. 

And so, this time, Dennis snaps. Instead of the usual roar of fury ringing in his ears - suddenly - silence. 

Mac takes this moment, this perfectly timed moment, to bring a tray of drinks to their table. “You guys order a, uh,” he squints at the note on the tray. “Vodka rocks and two sex - sexes - sex on the beaches?” 

Katie looks at Mac like she could eat him for lunch. Dennis hardly notices. His ears are ringing. “No,” she says. She leans forward, trying to be seductive. “But why don’t you sit, stay a while.” 

“We were just talking to your boyfriend about you,” says the friend.

Dennis hears this as if from a million miles away. Of course! Hahahaha. Of course it’s Mac. Mac the hot gay boyfriend. Of course. Just his luck.

Mac frowns. _You’ll get there, buddy,_ Dennis thinks distantly. “My uh - boyfriend?” He asks. “Where?” 

The girls find this hysterical. Dennis’ mind is full of elevator music, he hardly hears a thing. “You’re so funny,” Katie says. By god, is she drunk. “Dennis is right here!”

“Seriously, sit,” the friend says.

Mac’s eyes, wide like a deer in headlights, slide over to Dennis, and there we go, now he’s fucking got it.

“Yeah, Mac,” he hears himself saying, still as if from far away. If people want to believe he’s gay, why not let ‘em? Hahaha! Just let ‘em. Who cares? Who fucking cares? Honestly, who cares? Honestly, who fucking cares? Maybe he’s gay then! If everyone thinks he’s gay, maybe he’ll just be gay then. Should make everyone happy. Should certainly make Mac happy. Pathetic, obnoxious, desperate gay Mac. Dennis fucking hates his guts. “Sit down! Girls, this is Mac, Mac, this is Katie.” He pulls the empty stool closer to him and gestures for Mac to sit.

Mac, pathetic, obnoxious, desperate gay Mac, looks terrified. _Good,_ Dennis thinks viciously. When Mac sits down on the stool, Dennis tosses a casually cruel arm over his shoulder. Mac immediately tenses. 

“Now ladies, where were we,” Dennis says, with his best plastered-on grin. Dennis’ skin thrills where it’s touching Mac. He can feel the heat of Mac’s body through his stupid way-too-well-fitting t-shirt and he knows, he knows this is _torture._ Finally, some fucking fun. “I think we were talking about your husband, Katie.” 

Katie laughs and says, “Yes, okay, so. Mac, Amanda and I were just telling Dennis that my husband John is bisexual, and wants to have a foursome with a gay couple. So we thought… I mean I thought maybe you and Dennis might be into it?” 

Mac looks at Dennis, and oh, god, the look on his face is very, very funny. Something fucking evil curls up contentedly in Dennis’ chest. Yes. Excellent. Amazing. He can see it in Mac’s eyes - a small but delicious morsel of actual hope. The anticipation of crushing it is making Dennis feel alive for the first time in months. 

Dennis looks Mac dead in the eye and raises his eyebrows. “Well, I think it could be fun, babe. What do you think?”

He watches Mac’s Neanderthalic brain short-circuit. If he wasn’t in polite company he’d laugh and laugh and laugh. Slowly the gears turn. Slowly Mac gets it. “Uh, yeah, sure, Den.” He swallows hard. He tears his gaze away from Dennis and looks at the women. “Is uh, mhm, sorry - is your husband here?” His voice is oddly high-pitched. Dennis resists the urge to cackle like a gremlin. “Are we doin’ this, like - now? Right now? Tonight?” 

“No, no, he works late,” Katie says, laughing, “But maybe we could all do coffee tomorrow, get to know each other? Oh my god, I’m so glad you guys are in.” 

“She’s literally been talking about this for weeks,” Amanda chimes in, and Dennis thinks, _shut up, Amy._

“Coffee works for us,” Dennis says, speaking for Mac because he knows for a fact that Mac has absolutely nothing better to do - in fact there’s absolutely nothing Mac would rather do - then go on a double date with Dennis. Mac shifts uncomfortably and Dennis curls his hand around his shoulder, tightens his grip. “Any time you want. You’ve got my number, so, just text the time and place! So exciting.” He beams at the girls. “Anyway, I should get back to the bar, and you should get back to work, too, shouldn’t you, hon?” 

Dennis releases Mac and hops off the stool. Mac’s hand rises seemingly of its own accord to the spot on his shoulder where Dennis had held him, and Dennis almost rolls his eyes but stops himself just in time. He will never understand Mac. Never. How he denied this in himself for so many years. How he clings to Dennis like chewing gum, impossible to scrape off.

“Yeah,” Mac says very quietly, utterly spaced out.

“See you tomorrow,” Dennis says with a winning smile and a little drum on the table, and walks back towards the bar. And as soon as he does, the second his back is turned, there it is, the immense and overwhelming tidal wave of regret. Why? Because he knows, he knows as well as he knows the palm of his own hand, as well as he knows his own dick, that he is about to be on the receiving end of the biggest, most cringe-worthy display of puppy dog eyes and carefully-fake-casual questions to ever grace this pub, and then he’s going to have to go back to his apartment and _live_ with that person, and he would rather hang himself from the shower curtain than have to deal, right now, with Mac.

“What was that, dude,” says a voice near his ear, and Dennis nearly spits with rage, swiping a hand at Mac to just, get away from him, without even turning to look. 

“God, don’t talk so fucking close,” Dennis snaps. “Shut up. Keep walking. I wanted to bang that hot chick so I told her you’re my boyfriend. It’s not a big deal, okay? Don’t make it into a big deal.”

“Okay.” Mac pads along beside him, follows him behind the bar. Amanda and her friend get up and leave, and Dennis gives them a big smile and a wave as they walk out the door. “So are we, like, doing this?” 

“Doing what.” Frank is at the bar, obviously, because he always is, and says this through a mouthful of peanuts.

“Nothing,” Dennis says quickly. “We are doing,” he looks at Mac, “Nothing.” 

“Okay, but like,” Mac leans in and says in a voice that he clearly thinks is quieter, which is, in fact, not any quieter at all, “Are we?” 

“Are we what,” says Frank. 

“What’s goin’ on, guys?” Charlie appears out of nowhere, popping up from someplace, like he’s been grubbing around on the floor, which maybe he has. His shirt looks sticky. Dennis scowls. It’s a relatively busy night at the pub, for a change, the lights turned down low, the place practically flooded with fifteen, twenty, maybe even thirty people. Dee is at the other end of the bar actually serving drinks, believe it or not. 

“Why are you so dirty, Charlie,” Dennis asks. Classic deflection. If he can get these morons blabbering about their own shit they’ll stop asking questions. 

“Oh, I noticed a lot of people had their shoes untied, so I was on the floor tying shoes.”

“You don’t know how to tie your shoes, Charlie.” 

Mac is vibrating like an ignored call next to him, Dennis can feel it even from a foot away. The deflection worked - Charlie and Frank have gotten into an argument about who taught who to tie their shoes - so Dennis has the space to turn to Mac and say, “Of course we are not doing it, you ape. We’re going to go to this coffee tomorrow, I am going to charm the pants off of these people, then I’m going to figure out how to get Katie alone and I’m going to bang her. Only her. Just me. Alright?” 

Mac nods mutely. Honestly the thought of having sex with Katie is so unappealing that Dennis doesn't even know why he's saying any of this. It's his brain, his mouth on autopilot, doing exactly what it's done for the last twenty years and will probably continue to do until the day he dies. Lie, shit on women, talk about being a sex god, eat, sleep, repeat. He hates it, he hates himself. 

And, to be honest, he would have given up on Katie right away if he didn't also really, truly hate Mac. If it weren’t for the sudden, subtle thrill of the thought that this could - he could - really make Mac suffer. Mac has just been - he’s just been so goddamn _happy._ Mac seems comfortable in his skin. Mac inexplicably became horrifically, unbearably hot, like, guys in leather suspenders at the pride parade hot, gym rat hot, sweaty pornography dude hot. Dennis hates it. He hates Mac’s happiness, he hates his gayness, he hates that he has to watch Mac swiping through grindr when he’s just trying to relax at their - at _his_ apartment, where Mac happens to live - and that sometimes Mac will ask him for his opinion on whatever sleazy guy he’s thinking about fucking. As if Dennis doesn’t know that Mac doesn’t want to fuck anyone but Dennis. As if Dennis doesn’t notice him watching, always waiting, hovering, always showing him he _cares._

Well, fuck Mac for caring about him. He’s going to get his revenge. He’s going to break him.

“So at this coffee date,” Dennis says, lowly, the clamor of the bar ensuring no one else can hear, “You’re going to be good, and pretend to be my boyfriend. Alright? Do you think you can do that?”

Mac gulps like a cartoon character. Mac nods, and Dennis can too easily see the strain from how hard he’s trying to be casual. Pathetic. “Yeah, sure, dude, absolutely. Wingman. That’s me. Just like the old days.” 

Dennis’ eyes narrow. “Old days? Sorry, you do know, right, that I’m getting more now than I ever did.”

“Yes, of course,” Mac says quickly, too quickly. “Duh. Totally, man. Yes. I just meant, like, back when I was straight.”

 _You were never straight,_ Dennis wants to scream, but he calms himself down. It doesn’t matter. He peels himself away from Mac, tries to find someone less irritating to talk to. The night goes on, the crowd dwindles down, the gang is alone in the bar again past midnight. Then Dee goes, complaining about bunions or something disgusting like that. Frank and Charlie saunter out bickering. Mac and Dennis are left to close up.

They finish some dumb conversation they’d all started before Dee had decided to go, then there’s silence in the pub again. Dennis used to prefer the party nights, the pulse of dancing people, but now, though he’d never admit it out loud because it’s too lame, he likes the silence. Likes when the bar is nearly empty. Good thing, too, since it almost always is. He doesn’t need the pressure of people, the eyes always looking at him like he knows they always are, tearing him apart. A man in his forties, still working at a dive like this? _I have an Ivy League education,_ he wants to shriek at each and every person who gives him a side-eye, but he can’t and he doesn’t. So it’s better like this. No one in the bar to look at him at all. Except Mac. 

Mac is looking at him. Dennis sighs, looks up. “What, Mac, what, what do you want.” 

“I just like,” Mac starts, “Um. Had some questions.”

“About what. What kind of questions.”

“Well, you said I should pretend to be your boyfriend, which is totally cool,” Mac says, and Dennis can feel the nerves radiating off him in waves. Mac is scared shitless. Good. “But I was just wondering, um, like, what exactly should I do? I just wanna make sure I do a good job and that you’re happy with, like, how I do it.” 

They’re both standing behind the bar, Dennis pretending to wipe something up with a wet rag, Mac actually cleaning. _Okay, Dennis, go time,_ he thinks to himself, _you’ve got this. Destroy him._

“Sure, that makes sense,” he says, keeping his voice carefully level. “Since you’ve never had a boyfriend, or been in any kind of real relationship, I can understand you not knowing exactly what’s expected of you.” Dennis puts the rag down, folds his arms over his chest. “It’s just a coffee date, so, you know, we’re not going to have to have sex or anything.” He laughs, a tinny, canned laugh like a sitcom live studio audience member. He watches Mac carefully. Mac is pointedly staring down at a stain on the counter, but his face twitches, his muscles tense. Good. “We should probably hold hands, you know, like this.” 

Dennis reaches over, laces his fingers through Mac’s. Mac’s other hand, the one holding the rag on the countertop, freezes. He looks up at Dennis, slowly, and there are those stupid puppy dog eyes, so full of pointless yearning that it makes Dennis want to drive a knife into his goddamn heart and twist it. Perfect. 

“Sure,” Mac says, so softly he sounds like he’ll break. 

“And maybe some other casual touching,” Dennis says, _reel him in, reel him in,_ “Like this, maybe.” He releases Mac’s hand, moves in close, bumps their shoulders together. He reaches down and slips his hand into Mac’s back pocket. 

Mac gasps in, a quick little inhalation of breath that could have gone unnoticed, but oh, Dennis is paying close attention. He notices that Mac’s body has gone entirely still. He notices Mac’s eyes flicking towards him, then quickly away again, then back at him like he can’t help it. A little shiver goes down Dennis’ spine. This is exciting. This is _fun._

He removes his hand and steps away again. “See? Easy. Not so hard to fake it.” 

His pulse is racing. Man, he hasn’t had this much fun flirting - fake flirting - with someone in ages. The point of flirting is, of course, as it’s always been, to get the other person to lower their defenses, expose their vulnerability, confess to being stupid enough to want him. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it. Mac is gay now, suddenly okay with being a raging, flaming homosexual, and yet he’s still never said a word about his biggest weakness. He still hasn’t said, openly, out loud, that his greatest wish as a newly out gay man is to fuck his best friend stupid, to have Dennis, to _love_ Dennis, which is the most embarrassing part. And Dennis already knows it! Dennis already knows it but he needs to hear Mac _say_ it, because then, finally, he’ll have won something worth having. He’ll finally have Mac’s jugular under his knife. 

“Piece of cake,” Mac says, clearing his throat. 

_And now for the kicker,_ Dennis thinks. He makes like he’s finishing up, puts the rag away, starts to walk out from behind the bar. Mac takes the cue from him and starts to follow. 

“Oh, and one more thing,” Dennis says, turning back around. Mac freezes. Dennis licks his lips, takes a step closer to Mac. “Just in case, I mean, I doubt we’ll have to do this. But I’m thinking maybe to really seal the deal we should kiss.” 

Mac’s face flushes bright red. He looks around as if for an escape, but he’s cornered. He’s trapped behind the bar like a caged animal. Dennis feels a chuckle rise low in his throat, stifles it. 

“Let’s just do a practice one,” Dennis says, “You know, so it looks authentic when we do it for real.” He takes another step in. 

“Dude,” Mac says, “I - I don’t know, are you - are you serious?” His breathing sounds shallow. Dennis’ blood zips through his chest at jet fighter speed. This is amazing. He should’ve fucked with Mac like this ages ago. He can see the whites of Mac’s eyes. Fantastic.

“Yeah, man, no big deal!”

Dennis moves in close, crowds Mac up against the bar, pins him there with hands on either side of the counter behind him, barring the way out with his arms. 

“Dennis, what’s happening,” Mac breathes out, and then Dennis kisses him.

Here’s the thing: Dennis is fully in control of every situation in which he finds himself. Usually. On the rare occasions when he finds he’s not, he typically responds by going absolutely ballistic, and by doing so, of course, regains control. He is especially in control when it comes to sex. He is always in control, complete and perfect control of his body’s responses, his thoughts, his reactions. And everything the other person does they do because he wants them to do it, because he manipulates them and makes them do it. On this occasion, he begins, as usual, in complete control of everything - his surroundings, the spacing, the timing, the mode of seduction. He begins in charge of his body and Mac’s. His intent is to press a chaste kiss to Mac’s lips to entice Mac to respond, then, when he does, to yield just slightly, just enough to tease, and then pull away again, chiding Mac, telling him to keep things casual, for Christ’s sake, it’s a coffee date.

What actually happens is this: Dennis’ lips meet Mac’s. There’s a softness, a warmth, and for a moment (as expected) no response, as Mac’s brain furiously tries to catch up. Then a responding pressure. Good. Mac pushes forward, chasing Dennis’ mouth, and Dennis is about to pull away when Mac’s lips slide open and suddenly, unexpectedly, something in Dennis splits. Like a tectonic plate.

This is when he loses control. And he can’t even go ballistic, because his mouth is busy, Mac is making sure his mouth is busy, and it’s all happening too fast. Mac is shoving him back against the liquor shelves behind him. Mac is opening Dennis’ mouth with his, sliding his tongue between Dennis’ lips; Mac is prying Dennis’ legs apart with his thigh and pushing against his groin and oh, my god, his blood is rushing down like a bullet train, and Mac takes Dennis’ face in his hands, cords his fingers through Dennis’ hair. They’re making out. Holy god, he and Mac are making out, and his brain is barely processing this but his mouth won’t stop moving and his hips are rutting forward of their own accord. Mac’s stubble scrapes against his chin and he _likes_ it, wants to feel it _everywhere_ , and _what the fuck?_ What? Heat washes over him, through him; he fists his hands into the sides of Mac’s shirt (what little fabric he can grab), feels the hard planes of muscle Mac has so carefully, perfectly toned, and he whimpers. He fucking _whimpers,_ and he has never, _ever_ done that involuntarily. 

The sound does something to Mac, wakes him up or something, because he gasps, pulls away, stumbles back. He looks at Dennis wide-eyed, more afraid than Dennis has ever seen him. Dennis can’t feel triumphant. Dennis can’t feel anything at all except the painful strain against his jeans, the sudden loss of friction leaving him winded, breathless. He’s weak at the knees. This must be a fever dream. This isn’t at all how Dennis had planned it. _Regain control, regain control,_ he thinks desperately, _fix it, fix it._

He clears his throat. “Jesus fuck, Mac! What the fuck was that?” 

“I don’t know,” Mac says, shaking his head, breathing hard. “I don’t know, man, I don’t know!” 

“You practically molested me!” 

Mac’s eyebrows fly halfway up his forehead. “ _You_ kissed _me_ , dude!” 

“Yeah, chastely!” Dennis insists. His voice sounds high-pitched and strained, he knows it, but he can’t fix it no matter how much he clears his throat. He might be permanently stuck like this. “Appropriately! And then you turned into a fucking wild animal!” This should feel like a win. He’d made Mac lose control, isn’t that what he’d wanted? Wasn’t that the point? None of this feels like the point.

“You whimpered,” Mac says, pointing a finger at him. “You whimpered, I heard it.”

“I did no such thing,” Dennis snarls. He straightens his shirt. His heart is thumping so loud it’s echoing in his ears. 

“Well what about that,” Mac says, pointing now at Dennis’ very obvious, very unavoidable erection. Dennis wills it to go away. Nothing. No response. Fuck! Why have his powers abandoned him now? “You can’t hide that, Dennis, what’s that?” 

“Don’t you look at my boner.” Dennis jabs a furious finger back at Mac. “Don’t you look at it!” 

Mac very pointedly, purposefully stares. “Huh? Huh? Whatcha gonna do?” 

“Fuck you, Mac! Fuck you!”

“Seems like you want to! Thought you weren’t gay?” 

“It’s a normal physiological response to being slammed up against a wall like a common whore!” Dennis practically shouts. “You know I’m straight, Ronald, all of this started because I wanted to fuck a very hot woman, and now you’ve gone and ruined my night!” 

A pause, and then Mac takes a step forward. It’s a confident step. A purposeful step. It looks like he’s on the prowl. Another whimper crawls up Dennis’ throat; he forces it down like bile. Mac gets close. “You liked it,” he says, with barely contained glee. 

The scales are tipping. This is very, very bad. 

Dennis tries to laugh it off but the laugh comes out sounding fake even to him. “In your dreams,” he says, but his voice cracks, and nothing has ever been more embarrassing, and Dennis has never, ever hated himself more. He wants to crawl into the sewers and be eaten alive by Charlie and Frank’s swarm of rats. He wants to torture himself in every known way possible and then set himself on fire and leap from the roof of city hall. 

On the counter, Dennis’ phone vibrates. Mac’s closer, he snatches it before Dennis can. “Pete’s Coffee. Tomorrow at 1pm,” Mac says, pushing the phone into Dennis’ hands, and then turns and leaves the bar without looking back.

They’re going back to the same apartment, taking the same car, so the gesture was extremely unnecessary, even moronic. But it’s a power move, and it’s the least pathetic Dennis has ever seen Mac. It’s the first time in years Mac’s talked back to him, given as good as he got. Dennis would respect it if he didn’t despise Mac McDonald with all the energy he possesses. No. No, Mac doesn’t get to win. Mac doesn’t get to be happy and openly gay and accepted and hot as fuck and _also_ have all the power. Mac is supposed to be stupid and malleable. Mac is supposed to yield. 

Dennis will make him.

On the ride back home, Mac driving, Dennis surly in the passenger seat, Mac says - without Dennis having to do anything at all - “Hey, sorry about that, man, I didn’t mean it. I just got pissed. I totally get that you’re not gay.” 

Dennis could fucking scream.

\--

“So nice to meet you!” 

They’re having coffee outside since, as all of them would remark as they ordered, it’s just such a beautiful spring day! Dennis wants to vomit. Last night he’d furiously jerked off in the shower, laid awake until five in the morning, finally dozed off, woke at noon, and now he's sitting at some terrible hipster boutique cafe wearing a button-up shirt. The car ride over had been absolutely silent. Mac had at one point tried to say something and Dennis had snapped, “Don’t do anything to embarrass me,” and that had been it. 

He had of course considered bailing. He could’ve said fuck it, who cares, the whole thing was too much effort, he could get laid easier than this, anyway, and then he and Mac would’ve spent the day getting wasted at the bar and pointedly never talking about this again. It would have been fine. But Dennis had spent a lot of time thinking about the whole affair during his sleepless night, and the thing is that now Mac thinks, no matter what he’d said in the car, that Dennis is gay. And despite his occasionally traitorous dick, Dennis is not. He is very, very straight, and had, in fact, sincerely done all of this to bang a lady, and by god, he will bang her. He will bang this woman into next week to prove to Mac he’s heterosexual, and if that means holding Mac’s hand for a couple hours, so fucking be it.

“John, this is Dennis and his boyfriend Mac, Mac and Dennis, this is John!” 

Dennis can’t tell if it’s out of spite or a genuine attempt to make this seem real but Mac is really gaying it up today, in a pink button-up and a bow tie. It’s hideous. “So nice to meet you, John,” Mac says with a big, cheesy grin, shaking John’s hand, and Dennis winces. Ugh. John, Dennis can admit, is kind of a handsome guy, not as handsome as Dennis, obviously, but he gets how he’d landed Katie. When he and Mac shake, Mac’s hand kind of lingers in John’s for a moment too long. Dennis rolls his eyes, actually praying to god that Mac won’t be weird. 

When they’ve gotten their drinks they sit at a cute little wrought-iron table under a tree. Dennis hopes the coffee is so hot it burns his throat on the way down and renders him incapable of speech. 

“So,” Mac says, leaning forward, elbows on the table, “What do you do, John?” 

While John rambles on about his stupid, meaningless nine-to-five, Dennis watches Mac. Mac isn’t looking at Dennis at all, which doesn’t feel right. Instead he’s angling his body toward John, fixing his eyes on John, listening, intently, to John.

“Sorry,” Katie says, smiling at Dennis. “John always goes on like this.”

Dennis glances at her. “Mhm,” he says, and then turns his attention back to Mac. _Look at me,_ he thinks, willing Mac to turn. _Look at me, you stupid fuck._

Somehow, his prayers are granted. Mac glances over, just for a second, but it’s long enough for Dennis to glean that Mac is looking to make sure that Dennis is watching, because Mac is playing a game. Dennis knows this because he knows people, he knows sexual dynamics, he knows what bozos are willing to do for attention, for affection, for sex. He knows because he’s used it to his advantage all his life. And most of all, more than anything, he knows Mac. He knows what Mac looks like when he wakes up in the morning, knows his food habits, knows his patterns of speech; he knows how Mac blinks repeatedly when he thinks he’s being smart and sarcastic but is really saying something unbelievably obvious, knows what Mac wants and how he organizes his underwear drawer and how he breathes when he sleeps. He knows the games Mac plays. And he knows, he knows that Mac is now paying rapt attention to John in a useless attempt to make Dennis jealous. 

Well, this game is a game for two, and Dennis knows how to play.

“You look just _lovely,_ by the way, Katie,” he says.

“Oh my god, thank you,” she says, flustered and flattered, exactly how he wants her. “I just threw this on.” 

“Well your breasts look amazing,” Dennis says, making sure Mac hears it. He doesn’t look over but he feels Mac shifting in his chair. Success.

Katie looks down at her chest. “Ugh, really?” She tugs at her shirt. “I don’t know, I felt like this shirt made me look kind of lumpy.” She looks up, beams. “So nice to have a gay guy to talk about this stuff with.” 

Dennis fights down the rage. Grappling with his anger gets more and more difficult each passing year, as he ages ungracefully and more and more things seem designed to piss him off. Tik Tok, for example. Bud Light Seltzer, what the fuck. But this specific rage is one long-felt, long-carried. He can control it. He can use it. Here he has a choice: deny, or accept. He’s got to keep up the ruse, but he could say he’s bisexual. She might be into that, but it does run more risk of him seeming creepy, predatory. If he says he’s gay she’ll get the wrong idea entirely, think he’s not interested, but maybe it’ll be sexier later when she “turns” him. Dennis remembers kissing Mac. The wheels spin in his head. His leg starts bouncing frantically under the table. Which one will it be, Dennis? Gay or bisexual, huh? Bisexual or gay? What are you gonna tell her? Are you bi or are you gay, Dennis? What kind of fucking queer are you, anyway? What kind of f-

A hand lands on his leg, steady and solid and warm, and stills it. Dennis glances down and Mac’s hand is on his thigh, without Mac having stopped talking to John, still intently pursuing that boring line of conversation. It seems it had been thoughtless. A reflex, an ingrained response to Dennis on high alert. It works - it grounds him. It tethers him back to his body.

“Um,” he says to Katie, who’s giving him a weird look. “Totally. Happy to provide. You know, while we’re at it, I think your hair would look a lot better parted the other way.” 

Katie takes out her phone, flips it to selfie mode and takes a look. Dennis doesn’t care. Mac’s thumb is rubbing small circles onto his leg. Dennis breathes. He glances over again and John has his arm on the table, reaching over ostensibly to admire a watch Mac is wearing that, wow, he absolutely stole from Dennis’ dresser, phenomenal, but the result is that John’s fingers are brushing Mac’s wrist, and Mac does a little breath out that Dennis recognizes, knows. Something tightens in his chest, like a fist crushing his lungs. Without thinking Dennis grabs Mac’s hand, the one formerly searing into his thigh, threads their fingers together and squeezes. Mac immediately pulls the arm with the watch off the table, away from John. Obeying orders. _Good,_ Dennis thinks monstrously. He purposely doesn’t think any more about it or what any of it means. He doesn’t let go of Mac’s hand.

There has almost never been an occasion where he and Mac were talking to any potential sexual partners that didn’t end in complete ruin. Usually there’s yelling, spitting, someone saying something unbelievably obtuse, throwing of food, throwing of shit, slapping, Charlie or Frank or Dee showing up and blowing up the whole thing in their faces, etc, ad nauseum. So Dennis is shocked when over an hour has gone by and they’re standing up for farewells and nothing has gone disastrously wrong. Katie and John seem to… like them. Katie and John seem actually, uh, DTF.

“Well, I think this is going to work out,” John says, cheesy motherfucker. He has eyes only for Mac and his eyes are hungry. Dennis feels the sudden urge to punch him. John reaches out a hand for Mac to shake, but Mac’s right hand is still clenched tightly in Dennis’. Mac looks over at Dennis, asking for permission. Fucking christ. Dennis rolls his eyes and releases Mac’s hand, only because it will be weird if he doesn’t and they’ve gone this long without being weird, practically a Guinness World Record. When Mac touches John Dennis wants to flip the table. Katie comes over to give him a hug and he focuses all his energy on noticing the way she feels against his body, trying, desperately, to feel anything at all.

“Are you guys free next Friday night?” Katie asks, pulling away. “That works for us.” 

“Yeah,” Dennis says without thinking. He’d really love it if this whole date could just be over. “Yes, absolutely.” He feels Mac’s eyes on him and tries to ignore it. “Shall we… come over to yours, then?” He smirks. He licks his lips.

“Let’s do dinner beforehand,” says John. Fucking John, with his chiseled jawline and his broad shoulders. And bisexual to boot! Handsome and enlightened! What a catch. “We’ll wine and dine you first.” 

Mac laughs pathetically at this. Dennis manages a half-smile. “Great,” he says. “Super!” 

“Well, see you then,” Katie says as she and John turn to go. “Bye guys!” Mac and Dennis smile and wave until the couple is out of sight, then immediately drop the act.

“Dude, that went so well!” Mac is grinning at him. Dennis feels nauseous. “You are totally gonna bang that girl.” A pause. “And John’s pretty hot, too.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dennis says, spitting venom, “You can forget about John, alright, because only I will be going on Friday.” 

Mac’s eyes narrow. “Hm, I don’t know, bro, I think they might think it’s weird if I don’t show up, don’t you think they might bail.” Another pause. “Just looking out for you, dude. I want you to get with uh. Kayley.”

“Her name is Katie, you ingrate,” Dennis says. He tries to think. His brain feels like scrambled eggs. “Um. Maybe you’re right. Alright, how about you come to the dinner. Then when it's time to go back to their place, you get a call or something, you know, like, an emergency, and you have to go.” 

“But then what about John?” Mac says.

“I’ll deal with John, alright?” Dennis doesn’t know ‘what about John.’ Probably nothing about John, because probably at that point he’ll leave and lie to Mac and tell him he fucked Katie when really he didn’t. “At that point it’s none of your business.” 

“Okay.” Mac is still beaming at Dennis like all he wants is for Dennis to be happy. Dennis could strangle him. He thinks about Mac’s hand on his thigh. He thinks about Mac’s mouth on his, hot and wet and eager. _Nnngh._ No! God, what the fuck is happening to him? He wishes he could grab himself by the shoulders and shake whatever this is out of him for good. He thinks about jerking off in the shower, thinking about Mac’s horrific bike.

He has to leave. He makes for the car.

“They totally bought it, too.” Mac, of course, follows Dennis to the parking lot. They did, after all, arrive together. They do, after all, live together, work together, breathe every goddamn breath together. “We were like, a really convincing couple I think. And we didn’t even have to kiss or anything. Guess we uh - guess we practiced for nothing, huh.”

“Yep,” Dennis says, wrenching open the Range Rover’s door. “Total waste of time.”

\--

The week crawls by. Dennis does his best to spend most of it drunk. He already spends most of every week drunk anyway, so why switch up the formula now? It’s made things easier. Things like coming to terms with his life. Things like dealing with the wrinkles that are starting to form at the corners of his eyes, on his forehead, the grey hairs he keeps finding and relentlessly plucking out as if they’re signs of a contagious disease. He’s not old enough, yet, for that. He can’t be. Yesterday he was twenty-two, going to orgies, dropping acid. The day before he was seventeen and getting high with Mac by the dumpsters outside the school. Back then the smell of hot garbage still made him nauseous. Now it’s just another seamless part of the backdrop of his disgusting life. 

Mac hovers like he always does. There’s something different there now and yet nothing is different at all. Mac is still hesitant, unsure. Mac still sends texts four hundred characters too long, and begs for attention, and is generally pathetic and gay for him. Except now when Dennis gets angry, instead of wanting to punch him, he wants to stick his tongue down Mac’s throat. And that’s so, so much worse than it was. So Dennis drinks.

“Dennis is like, really drunk, man,” he vaguely hears Charlie say from far away, as if he’s at the bottom of the ocean. It’s Wednesday night. _Wasted Wednesday, amirite,_ Dennis thinks. “I think you should take him home.” 

Mac looks from Dennis to Charlie to the convoluted board game they’d built that day that Mac will absolutely forfeit if he leaves the bar now. “Oh, man,” Mac whines. “I’m so close to destroying you.”

“I’m s’fine,” Dennis says, standing up from the bar. He’s seriously so s’fine. He can take care of himself. He certainly doesn’t need Mac to take care of him, Mac with his big burly arms and his handsome stubble and his pretty - pretty eyes. Hideous, stupid Mac. No. “I’ll go home by m’self. I’m not s’drunk.” 

The world kind of pitches and wheels around, and then Dennis is on the floor.

“Whoops,” he says. How did that happen? He’s giggling.

“Okay,” Mac says. “Alright. Fine. I forfeit. You win. But you’ve been serving Dennis all night so don’t think I don’t know that you fucking cheated.” 

“I could take Dennis home,” Dee says with a shrug.

 _NO!_ “NO!” Dennis shrieks. “No! Do not let her take me, Mac.” 

“Shut up, Dee, you’re upsetting him. I would never let her take you anywhere, Den, don’t worry. Come on, up we go.” Mac gets his hands under Dennis’ arms and pulls him back up to his feet. _Whee!_ Like a forklift. 

“That’s fun,” Dennis says, staggering to stay on two legs. “You’re so strong.” 

“Get him _outta_ here, dude. He’s been so weird lately.”

“Alright. Come on, Dennis.” Mac fumbles around in Dennis’ jean pocket for the car keys. It’s over too fast. “Let’s go home.” 

Dennis passes out in the car, comes to again as Mac struggles to get him out of it. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” he grumbles, swatting Mac’s hands away. Mac catches the weight of his body as he gets down from the passenger side anyway. Dennis lets himself slump into him, lets himself revel in the rock-hard sturdiness Mac has so recently acquired. _You pathetic fag,_ he thinks to himself, but he’s laughing aloud. _Stop being so fucking gay you useless pussy._

“You good, Dennis?” Mac tucks an arm underneath him, walks him into the building. 

“S’good,” Dennis slurs. He’s smiling without knowing why. His mind is a nonstop diatribe of slurs and self-hatred. _You turned out to be exactly as faggy as they all thought you were, didn’t you, you piece of fucking shit._ His body, though, feels very nice. Everything is warm, and fuzzy, and tingly. Alcohol is like, so good. 

They’re in the apartment before Dennis registers the transition from outdoors to indoors. Mac is lowering him gently onto the couch. “I’m gonna get you some water, k buddy?” he says, but Dennis latches onto his shirt. 

“No,” he says. His throat is so, so dry. “No.” He tugs, dragging Mac down. Mac kneels on the ground at Dennis’ feet. Dennis leans forward so they’re face to face. Mac, he notices blurrily, doesn’t seem to be breathing. _I’m gay but he’s like really, really, really gay,_ Dennis drunk-thinks. _And he’s gay for ME. He wants ME._

“Kiss me,” Dennis says.

Mac looks at him for a long, long moment. Like basically an eternity, Dennis thinks. Years pass. Planets spin. _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_ screams a tiny part of Dennis’ sober psyche, sunk at the bottom of a sea of vodka and Natty Light. _DENNIS REYNOLDS, STOP THIS RIGHT THIS INSTANT._

“No,” Mac finally sighs, and he sounds so resigned, so defeated, that something in Dennis’ ribcage splits in two.

“Yes!” He says, aggressively, and grabs Mac’s shirt, hauls him forward, kisses him.

It’s nothing like last time. Mac responds, just a little bit, almost like he can’t help himself, but his mouth stays firmly, innocently closed. It’s warm and sweet and good but not _good,_ not the exhilarating rush Dennis remembers, wants back so badly he’s been drinking himself stupid to try to forget it. He can’t forget it. That kiss made him drunker than anything he’d ever knocked back. He wants more. Fine, he’ll admit it. He wants more. _Take it back,_ sober Dennis pleads, _take it back, take it back._

Mac pulls away. “Dude, no.” His face is flushed sunburnt red. Dennis sniggers. How embarrassing. “You - you are super drunk, okay, and you don’t really want to kiss me, and if I kiss you, dude, you’re going to hate me tomorrow, and you already hate me enough.” 

“I d’hate you,” Dennis nods. He has no idea whether he meant to say “do” or “don’t.” 

“I know,” says Mac. Dennis has no idea which one Mac thinks he’s responding to. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

\--

On Thursday, like every other day of the week, they don’t talk about it. Mac side-eyes him over breakfast and seems like he’s trying to say something, but Dennis is able to one-word-response his way out of any real conversation until finally he introduces a new subject to get him off of that one, Mac starts ranting and raving as usual, and Dennis is able to tune him out.

He’s decided that what’s happening to him is not really happening to him. It’s just some kind of paranoid delusion his mind has latched onto, something about a fear of getting old and losing his vitality. He is not attracted to Mac. He _thinks_ he’s attracted to Mac, because he’s afraid of the future, because he hasn’t had sex in a few months, because Mac actually coming out of the closet and making real progress in his life has made Dennis feel as if he’s stagnating. But the truth is, Dennis is far from stagnant. Dennis is as erotic and alive as he’s ever been. 

“So then Charlie won, obviously,” Mac says, then looks at Dennis’ bowl. “You’re not gonna eat the marshmallows?”

Dennis pushes the bowl towards Mac. “Enjoy,” he says. He doesn’t even know how a box of Lucky Charms wound up in the apartment of two fully grown men. 

“Sorry again for sleeping in your bed,” Mac says around a mouthful of soggy sugary glop. “I swear nothing happened.”

“I know nothing happened, Mac, you were wearing yesterday’s clothes.” For a split second Dennis had felt nothing but sleepy warmth and comfort at seeing Mac, passed out, beside him. Then he’d woken up. 

“Right. I just wanted to make sure I was right there if you needed me, like in case you threw up in the night or turned over on your back, cause you know you’ve got to sleep on your side when you’re like that in case you throw up, you don’t want to choke. Or just like, in case you needed anything else, you know.”

Dennis already has a headache and it’s getting worse. “Right. Okay. Please don’t do that again, though, okay? Don’t - don’t get into my bed wearing street clothes. It’s filthy.”

“Yes. Of course. Sorry.” Mac gives him that sidelong glance again. “Uh-” 

“I’m going to work,” Dennis says, pushing away from the table, standing up. 

“Shotgun!” Mac grins an asinine grin. 

Dennis white-knuckles it all the way to the bar. He doesn’t think what’s waiting for him there could possibly be worse than being in his own apartment with his own roommate. Wrong! Utterly, entirely wrong. He can tell from the look on Dee’s face the second they walk into the bar that something is about to go very, very badly for him. 

“Well, well, well.” Dee seriously looks like a cackling witch, you know, one you’d hang up to scare children on Halloween. She’s behind the bar and puts both hands on her hips. She smiles with her tongue between her teeth. “Guess what, fellas?” 

Something heavy sinks in Dennis’ gut. “Nothing you have to say could possibly interest me,” he says. Charlie and Frank are seated at the counter, and they’re both looking at Mac and Dennis as they walk in, just looking. It’s weird. It’s all very weird.

“What’s going on,” Mac says, taking the bait like an idiot.

“We had a visitor at the bar last night after you two left,” Dee says. “Guess what she told us?”

“Weknowyou’regonnahavesex,” Charlie says in a rush.

Dee looks at him with her signature cocktail of disgust, rage, malice. “Charlie, what the fuck? We agreed I was gonna say it!”

“Okay, Dee, but you were just taking, like, so long.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dennis says before Mac can get a chance to say anything, because whatever Mac is about to say will be disastrous, he’s never been more positive of anything. The bar is closed, at least, so no random would-be customers will wander in. It’s only noon. It’s too early, and he’s way too hungover, for any of this. Still, he walks to the bar and sits down, maintaining the perfect picture of nonchalance. Mac stumbles over himself and tips into the stool beside him. Cool as summertime in the fucking Sahara.

“You and Mac,” Frank says. “We know you’re gonna plow.” 

“Katie stopped by,” Dee says, practically crowing. “She wanted to make sure you’d gotten her text about the restaurant because you haven’t responded. You should really respond to your texts, you know, Dennis, it’s pretty rude to ignore them.” 

“You guys are seriously gonna have sex with her and some other dude?” Charlie ruffles his hair absentmindedly. “I mean, it’s not gay in a threeway, but like, a fourway with three guys, man, I don’t know.”

“Definitely gay,” says Frank. “One hundred percent homo.” 

Normally this would bother Dennis, but actually, this is fine. This is fine because Dennis knows exactly how to handle it. “Guys,” he says, calling upon his bottomless powers of condescension, “Guys, guys, guys, guys. You’ve got this all wrong.”

“Oh, please,” Dee says, leaning forward with her elbows on the counter. “I would love to hear you try to explain this one.”

“Mac is helping me out,” Dennis says. Everything is fine because he’s in control. “I’m trying to bang Katie, she wanted a foursome, and Mac agreed to pretend to be my boyfriend. We will not be having sex, as much as we all know Mac is pretty much desperate for it-”

Mac makes a noise of protest; everyone else nods, mhms, Frank says “yeah.” 

“-because I am a happily straight man.” Dennis shifts uncomfortably on the stool. “So. Simple as that.”

“So what, you and Mac are just _pretending_ to date.” 

Dennis frowns. “Yes, Dee, that’s literally what I just said.” He laughs, looks over at Charlie, who shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s what the man just said, Dee.”

“Okay, but - but you two are terrible actors.” Dee says, still trying to win, but victory is slipping from her grasp, she knows it, Dennis can feel it. Frank has lost interest; Charlie’s on his side. He allows himself to feel pleased at how swiftly this was handled. “You couldn’t get away with that kind of act.”

“What,” Dennis scoffs, looking at Mac conspiratorially, “Like it’s hard?” 

And as he looks at Mac and Mac looks back at him he realizes it’s been a long time, hasn’t it, since they’ve looked at each other like this. Like they’re on the same team. It used to always be like this, him and Mac against the world. Or like, against the gang, anyway. Or, okay, at least Dennis didn’t hate him all the time. He used to consider him a partner. In crime, a partner in crime. A best - his best friend. Right? Mac was his best friend, wasn’t he? When had he forgotten that exactly?

Mac is on board. He scoffs too, says, “Honestly, Dee, I think I’d have a harder time pretending I _wasn’t_ dating Dennis.”

“I know everything about him,” Dennis says. “Newlywed Game us. Come on, let’s have it.” 

“Fine. Mac, what’s Dennis’ favorite color.”

“Blue, because it’s the color of his own eyes,” Mac says, as though the answer is obvious. It is actually excruciatingly obvious. Way to lead with a softball, Dee, Dennis thinks. “Too easy, Dee. Next.” 

“Dennis, what’s Mac’s favorite Christmas tradition,” Charlie says, jumping in.

“Well, he tells _you_ it’s throwing rocks at trains, because that’s the pathetic and totally deranged activity you two used to get up to and we all indulged in that one time, but ah, actually, he prefers the breaking and entering.” 

“Well that’s not true,” Charlie says, “Right, Mac?”

Mac makes a guilty face. Dennis smirks. 

“Dude! You love throwing rocks!”

“Not that much, Charlie,” Dennis says. “Another one, let’s go.”

“What did Mac get me for my birthday last year,” Frank throws out.

Dennis thinks for a moment. 

“Come on, man,” Mac murmurs, “You know this.” 

“Oh.” Dennis snaps his fingers. “Toaster oven. Which you destroyed two hours later trying to cook a pigeon.” 

“Dammit.”

Dee lobs more questions about him at Mac, who hits them all out of the park no problem. Dennis feels the clawing hatred he always feels for Mac dissipating. He’s remembering everything now. How bizarre it all seems. He used to not eat unless Mac said go. They used to do everything together - every movie, every meal, every workout session or attempt at a scheme, every reckless drug-related bad decision. It was him and Mac. And the more Dennis thinks about when it had changed, when the disgust and the irritation had come crawling in like worms infesting his brain, the more he circles like a vulture around one event: Mac came out.

It makes him sick to think about it, because it’s something close to the truth, and Dennis has never, ever dealt well with the truth. He won’t admit that to himself either, of course. He’s getting close to it now. Mac came out, and the world tipped on its axis. All their lives Dennis had been trying to get Mac to admit he was gay, had been trying to pry it from those clenched fingers as if their lives depended on it. But once the palm was opened - once Mac’s grasp had loosened, finally, and honesty had swept through the gang like a gust of wind, everything, _everything_ had changed. _Go back in,_ Dennis had thought furiously as Mac came proudly out of the closet. _Go back in!_

Because (part of) the truth is this: if Mac is gay - and Mac _is_ gay - then it means Dennis’ plausible deniability is gone with the wind. Dead as a doornail. They’re not best friends. They never have been. They’re something else, something ten hundred times more terrifying. They can’t go on dinner dates, obsess over each other’s habits, move to the suburbs, be glued to each other’s sides, not anymore, not like they could when it had just been two heterosexual bros doing what heterosexual bros do. Now there’s nothing heterosexual about it. Now, Dennis has to admit - in a real way, not just in the casual, fake, half-joking way he’s always admitted it - that Mac is in love with him. Like really, truly in love with him. Worse, Mac knows everything about him and still he _cares_ , cares in the stupid, desperate way people care when they’re in love, and it makes Dennis hate himself, and it makes him want to die.

The hatred creeps back in.

“Mac’s opinion on Nancy Pelosi,” Dee says, pointing at Dennis.

Dennis waves a hand. “Mac doesn’t have a clue who Nancy Pelosi is,” he says. (“Who’s that,” says Mac, background noise.) “I’m tired of this game, alright, can we be done?” He’s tired. The day’s hardly half over and he’s tired. “Do we really not have anything more interesting to talk about?”

They don’t, but they talk about something else anyway. When the conversation’s moved on enough, Dennis shifts on his stool so he’s sitting a bit closer to Mac. He pointedly doesn’t think about why, because if he did, he’d probably scratch his own eyes out. He just does what his body wants him to do. Mac looks at him and Dennis doesn’t look back. Dennis has circled close enough to the truth for one day, thank you very much. He doesn’t intend to land on it. 

\--

“Alright. Go time.”

It doesn’t make sense to Dennis that Mac, now essentially a paragon of manhood, is still incapable of finding a suit jacket that actually fits. He’s pretty sure the blue one Mac is wearing tonight is one he’s had for ten years, that he’s worn fat, skinny, fat again. It hangs off his shoulders in the wrong way, hides the shape of his torso, his perfect waist. It’s Friday, 6:10pm, and they’re in the Range Rover.

Dennis had woken feeling much, much better. It’s been a full week now since that horrible mistake of a kiss, long enough for Dennis to finally dismiss it. A weird moment. A strange fever dream. Dennis had been off, obviously; that had been the same day he’d agreed to this whole scheme in the first place which now seems terribly misguided. But it’s too late, and his sexuality is on the line now, so it’s do or die. Dennis says do. And then maybe later he’ll kill himself, who knows. The night is young.

Anyway all Dennis feels now is embarrassment that his boyfriend - his fake boyfriend, but still, they’re showing up in public together - has no idea how to dress himself.

“Why are you wearing that horrible jacket,” he says as they get out of the car. “You’re gay now, how could you still dress like that.”

“Dude!” Mac looks down at himself in horror. “Really?! You should’ve said something back at the apartment!” 

“It’s fine, I’ll take you to a tailor this week, I got a great guy,” Dennis says, walking ahead of him into the restaurant. “Come on, we’re late.” 

As they walk through the restaurant doors and greet the hostess, Mac slips his hand into Dennis’. _Oh._ Oh, yeah. They’re pretending, aren’t they. Mac’s hand is warm and Dennis finds himself squeezing it in his. It would be pathetic, but it’s not, because it’s just part of the act. All part of the act. 

“Mac! Dennis!” 

Dennis’ hatred for John flares up like wildfire, settles down again when Dennis commands it to. _Chill out,_ he thinks to himself, _chill out, Dennis, soon you will never have to see this person again._ He’s already resolved not to even bother sleeping with Katie. She’s not even a 10. No more than a 9.5, really. Hardly worth the trouble of having to get rid of John. All he needs to do is get rid of Mac, which there’s a plan for, and then he can wait a little while, grab a drink someplace, go home. He’ll tell Mac and the gang he slept with Katie, mission success, Dennis is straight, hooray, we all go home happy.

John gestures them over to the table and they sit. 

For the first hour and a half, it goes well. They make smalltalk that makes Dennis’ skin crawl. John won’t stop looking at Mac. They eat pretty decent food that Dennis doesn’t want to pay for but he will, by god, in order to pretend to fuck this woman, he will. Dennis laughs loudly at all of Katie’s jokes. John won’t stop looking at Mac. They order another round of wine, fuck it, let’s just get a bottle, shall we! Dennis remembers John is paying and orders the most expensive one. John, haha, John just will not stop fucking looking at Mac! Dennis slings an arm around Mac’s shoulders, the act, part of the act, acting. Mac gives him a small smile and scoots his chair in closer so their thighs are touching under the table. It’s not excruciating, because why on earth would it be? Dennis is four glasses deep in sweet, sweet Merlot. It’s like he’s being beamed up to heaven when the waiter finally brings the check.

Of course, it’s then that things go downhill. 

“Should we… head back to our place?” Katie asks, impish smile on her admittedly very beautiful face. 

“Absolutely,” says Mac, who has also had four or maybe five glasses of wine. His lips are stained just slightly redder than usual.

“Um.” Dennis looks at Mac. This - this isn’t the plan. It’s fine, it’s all fine, but this isn’t the plan. He tries to convey this to Mac with his eyes but Mac just looks back at him as if he’s stupidly innocent, as if he doesn’t understand anything at all. Which in his defense, he usually doesn’t. “Mac, _babe,_ I’m gonna run to the bathroom before we go, will you just come with me real quick?” 

Mac looks at John and Katie, then back at Dennis. There’s nervousness in his eyes now. Good. “Uh, yes, of course. Honey.” He says to John, “Be right back.” Dennis practically drags him to the men’s room.

“Owowow,” Mac hisses as Dennis pulls him through the door and tosses him aside with a twist of his arm for good measure. “What, Dennis, yeesh, what’s that for?”

“You are not supposed to come back to the apartment, Mac,” Dennis says. The light in here is very dim, one of those fancy restaurant bathrooms where they assume you don’t need to be able to see in order to properly aim your shit. Dennis hates that he’s actually in a classy establishment for once and he’s in here having this stupid conversation. “You’re supposed to get an emergency call and have to go, remember. That was the deal.” 

Mac looks scared for a moment, then takes a breath, stands up taller, crosses his arms over his chest. Oh god. Oh no, oh god, not _this_ Mac, not obstinate, bullheaded Mac, please, god, spare him. “Well, Dennis,” Mac says, louder like if he’s louder then maybe he’ll sound more confident. Dennis sees right through him. “I’ve decided I want in.” 

“ _In?_ ” Dennis hisses. This is almost over! This is so, so close to being over and now Mac is standing in his way, again, the way he always does, like a big, stupid roadblock, dumber than cement. “Excuse me, did you just say you want _in?_ What exactly do you want to get _in_ so badly, buddy? Huh?” He’s seething. He’s not yet frothing at the mouth, but oh, just give him time.

“The foursome,” Mac says, deflating but only slightly. He’s not backing down yet. “I think we should do the foursome.” 

“WE ARE NOT-” Dennis breathes, takes it down a notch. This is fine. He can control this. He takes a step towards Mac. “Mac, we are not doing the foursome, okay, bud? We’re not doing it. It’s not happening.”

“Well, fine,” Mac says. He looks up at the ceiling. “You go home then.”

A random stranger walks into the bathroom and goes to the urinals. Dennis steadies himself, trying not to explode in this classy bathroom in front of this classy restaurant patron. He counts to ten. He says, quietly, “Excuse me?”

“I said,” Mac says, leaning forward and looking him in the eye, “You go home then. Katie, John and I will have a threesome without you.”

“Don’t act like you give a shit about Katie,” Dennis snaps. The stranger peeks back at them, then quickly away again. Dennis lowers his voice: “You’ve been making fuck-me eyes at John all night. It’s disgusting.”

“Oh, why, because we’re both men?” Mac says, louder than he should. Dennis widens his eyes at him, raising his eyebrows, gesturing to the peeing man. Mac ignores him. He’s doing this on purpose. “What, do you hate gay people, is that it?” 

The man zips up his fly, turns, gives Dennis a fleeting nasty look. 

“I don’t hate gay people!” Dennis shouts after the stranger as he leaves the bathroom. “I don’t - fuck, Mac! Fuck you! I don’t hate gays, I just hate _you,_ don’t you get that, can’t you get that through your head!” 

Mac gets visibly angrier. Dennis’ stomach twists into knots. “Why?” Mac shouts back. He flaps his hands helplessly. “I do everything for you! I take care of you, I make sure our place is clean and everything is just the way you like it, I feed you when you forget to eat, I care about-”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE GAY,” Dennis yells, and he feels his face getting red. He’s losing it, he’s losing control, but he can’t help it, can’t stop it. “I hate you because you’re gay, alright! And no, I’m not a homophobe, I don’t hate every gay person, it’s just you and your gayness I hate! It’s-”

“You’ve been telling me to come out of the closet my whole life!” Mac looks like a wounded puppy. “You wanted this!”

“I thought I did!” Dennis can’t turn the volume down. There’s no off switch. “I thought I did but now it’s all pride parade this, grindr that, looking at John like you want him to blow you under the goddamn table-” 

“I don’t care about _John!_ ” Mac says. This train is running away fast. This train is running away so fast and Dennis needs to stop it, needs to stop it right now, before it crashes, before it gets worse. It’s like trying to outrun a tornado. “It’s you I-”

 _“WHY?”_ Dennis shouts. He wishes he could break every mirror in this bathroom. He wishes he could run wild through the restaurant smashing plates and glasses and fancy ass bread bowls. “WHY DO YOU CARE ABOUT ME, MAC?”

Silence. Mac is frozen, looking at Dennis. Dennis can’t take this. He can’t take it. He’s going to collapse. There’s no air in his lungs. He can hear his heart pounding in his head. How did this happen? How’d they get here? Weren’t they just at the table, making small talk? Weren’t they just at the bar cooking up schemes? Weren’t they just under the bleachers in high school, huffing paint? 

Mac takes a deep breath. “Dennis, I’m gonna tell you something.”

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. “No,” Dennis says aloud. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jacket. He'd thought he wanted this, just like he’d once thought he wanted Mac to come out. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to hear it at all. He clears his throat, where something, strangely, has lodged itself. “No, Mac, don’t-”

“Dennis, I-”

Panic rises. “Mac McDonald, I’m warning you, don’t you _dare_ -”

“I’m telling you, dude, I know for a fact everything gets better when you just say what you need to say, okay, so I’m just gonna say this-”

Dennis lunges at him, tries to cover his mouth with his hands. It’s a stupid idea. Mac is stronger. Still they flail around like idiots, wrestling, banging into the stalls behind Mac, Mac swatting at Dennis’ arms. “Stop it!” Dennis yells, “Stop it!” 

Someone else walks in the bathroom and walks right out again. Dennis barely notices.

“No!” Mac shouts, “No, Dennis, I need to say this and I’m gonna say it!” He pins Dennis’ arms at his sides, looks him, unashamed, in the eye. “Dennis, I love-”

Dennis shuts him up the only way he can think to. He kisses him.

Oh, it hadn’t been just a fever dream, had it. 

No. 

It hadn’t been a weird moment between bros being bros. It hadn’t been because Dennis hadn’t had sex in a while. It was never just alcohol-induced, or imagined, or anything like that, any of the stupid excuses he told himself to get away from this, to get out of it, to make himself think he’d never felt the way he feels right now. No. Dennis is attracted to Mac. Dennis is really, truly, wildly attracted to Mac.

He knows this because it happens again. The part where he breaks open, loses control. One time is a fluke. _Fool me twice… I’m gay,_ Dennis thinks, words he’s been trying very, _very_ hard not to think, for as long as he can possibly remember, but he can’t not think them now. Now it’s impossible to deny. Mac’s tongue is in his mouth. Mac’s hands are clinging to the lapels of his jacket. Mac’s lips are soft and plush and open, and Dennis is moaning a litany of curses into them like prayer. 

_Fuck._

“I hate you,” he sighs. 

“Right, okay, sure,” Mac says breathlessly. “Shut up.” 

Dennis doesn’t like being told to shut up, especially by Mac, but this time he thinks maybe Mac has a point. He shuts up. He doesn’t regret it. Mac spins them around and pushes Dennis forcefully into the wall of the stall behind them. It knocks the breath out of Dennis, in a good way, a very, very good way. _Wreck me,_ he thinks. Self-loathing creeps up into his throat. He forces it back down. _Not now._ Mac pushes his hips against Dennis’ and Dennis can feel the hard line of his dick through his ill-fitting pants. _Yes yes yes yes yes._ Mac pins him by his wrists and kisses him hot and heavy, and Dennis’ hips twitch forward. _More more more._ He’s tired, he’s so tired of denying it. He wants Mac to absolutely fucking ruin him. He wants Mac to fuck him til he screams.

“Maybe we should _both_ go home,” Mac says, pupils blown wide, mouth kissed ripe-red. He looks amazing. Dennis lets himself admit it. He looks fucking hot. He looks so fucking hot all the goddamn time. It’s such a relief to allow himself to think it that Dennis almost weeps. 

Going home will take too long. “That’s no fun,” Dennis breathes, and chases Mac’s mouth, kisses him again, and Mac can’t help himself either, can’t deny himself any more than Dennis can. They’ve never been great at curbing their impulses, either of them, have they. No matter how much Dennis feels he’s in control. If it’s Dennis vs. discipline he’ll always lose in the end, he knows it. Why has he held on so long? This is unbelievable.

“Okay, let’s at least - okay,” Mac says, looking absolutely insane, “let’s just go into a stall then, okay?” 

“Obviously,” Dennis snaps, because he still doesn’t like when Mac is the rational one, and he grabs a corner of Mac’s jacket, bangs the stall door open and drags him inside.

“This is fucking crazy,” Mac breathes, and kisses Dennis again. Dennis has to blindly latch the door behind them because Mac was too stupid to do it himself. Mac takes Dennis’ face in his hands. That’s not where Dennis wants Mac’s hands.

“Tell me what you want,” Dennis says without thinking. It’s been good to him for the past minute, this not-thinking thing. He thinks he’ll continue to not think.

“What?” Mac looks like someone’s hit him over the head with a rock. 

Dennis presses his palm between Mac’s legs, and Mac lets out a breathy noise that Dennis would kill to get on tape. Maybe later he will. He has to rein that thought in before he loses his mind. “I said,” he says between gritted teeth, “Tell me what to do, asshole.” 

Mac still looks stunned when he says, “Uh. Blow me?” 

_Good._ Dennis drops to his knees.

“Oh my God,” Mac says, voice shaking, hands shaking. “Oh my God.” 

“Don’t,” Dennis says, unbuttoning Mac’s slacks, pointing up at Mac, “Mention god again.” 

Mac disobeys him almost immediately. Hard to blame him. Dennis has Mac’s pants around his knees. Dennis is kissing up Mac’s perfect, unbelievable thighs. He’s never given a blow job, but he’s received enough. He knows what to do. Mac’s head tips back against the stall, eyes fluttering shut. Dennis flicks his tongue against the head of Mac’s cock, where moisture has started to form. Mac gasps. _Good._ He doesn’t think. He licks a stripe up his shaft. Mac moans like a low-budget porn star and buries a hand in Dennis’ hair. _Gooood._ His fingernails scrape against Dennis’ scalp and it hurts but the pain makes it better. Dennis takes him in his mouth.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mac pants. “Sorry. Oh, fuck, _Jesus,_ Dennis.” 

Dennis would roll his eyes if the effort wouldn’t currently be Herculean. He focuses instead. He likes this feeling, Mac’s cock heavy on his tongue. Indescribably better than going down on a woman. He doesn’t think about that. He focuses. He works on bringing Mac deeper. He nearly gags, he pulls off a bit, he tries again. _There._ Mac’s cock hits the back of his throat. _Yes._ He’s painfully hard himself, straining against his much better-fitting pants. He’s getting the knees all fucked up on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t care. He wraps a hand around the base of Mac’s cock and moves his mouth, his tongue. He'd never thought he’d like the taste. He'd never thought a lot of things.

Mac’s hips push forward, inching himself deeper. _No, no,_ Dennis thinks; he takes Mac’s hips in his hands and pushes him back against the wall. Mac gasps. “I’m not gonna last very long,” Mac warns, voice high and needy. Dennis, of course, knows this. How long has Mac been waiting for this? Decades? The thought turns him on even more. He rolls his tongue, he takes Mac all the way in, again, again. _You’re sucking Mac’s dick,_ he thinks, as if to torture himself, _You’re sucking Mac’s dick and you like it, you slut._ Mac, as if he can read Dennis’ mind, is undone. His hips buck forward, breaking out of Dennis’ hold, and he’s moaning, and cum is pouring down the back of Dennis’ throat. _Swallow, you bitch,_ Dennis thinks to himself, and he does. 

“Oh my god,” Mac says, with less reverence for god this time than for Dennis. Good. He grabs Dennis’ jacket and pulls him to his feet, kissing into his mouth as if he wants to taste himself. “Oh my god, Dennis. Wow. Holy fuck.” He’s reaching down to undo Dennis’ pants. _Yes._ His hands find Dennis’ cock, and Dennis is already so close the contact alone is almost enough to do it. With a few deft strokes (Mac knows him, doesn’t he, has watched the tapes, has watched him do this to himself some uncountable number of times, knows exactly how Dennis likes it) he has Dennis cursing and whining and coursing over the edge, the force of it stunning him, ripping through his body like an avalanche. This is the best orgasm of his life, he has no doubt, and it’s in a public restroom, from a fucking hand job, from Mac. 

Mac quickly grabs a fistful of toilet paper, cleans Dennis up with shaky hands. “Sorry,” he keeps saying, over and over, “Sorry, man, your shirt. Sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing,” Dennis says. He means to say it with venom but it comes out kind of soft. He’s winded. He swats Mac’s hands away, grabs the disgusting wad of toilet paper and finishes cleaning up himself. He tosses the paper into the toilet. He collapses on the seat. 

“What does this-” Mac starts. He’s breathing hard, too, not quite able to get out the words. His voice is raspy. Dennis likes the way it sounds. “Are we - do you-”

“I don’t know,” Dennis says. He has his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. God, he needs a drink. He’s exhausted. No thoughts. Head empty. “Any question you could possibly ask me right now, just know, the answer is I don’t fucking know.” 

“Okay.” Dennis hears Mac pulling his pants back up. He exhales. He looks up.

“Okay.” Dennis swallows, mouth suddenly dry. Post-orgasm Mac is gorgeous. Sinful. He pulls himself together. “Let’s get a story straight for those fucks out there at the table.” 

\--

“So sorry we took so long,” Dennis says, sitting back down, smiling maybe somewhat psychopathically. He’s sure, he’s so sure it’s painfully obvious. Written all over their faces. There's cum on his shirt. WE HAD SEX, he wants to scream. He feels unhinged. He doesn’t scream anything. “We’ve actually discovered that, um.” So, he and Mac hadn’t actually come up with anything. Who cares. “Um. Mac has… chlamydia.” 

Katie and John’s faces twist first into horror, then a faux-approximation of concern. 

Dennis claps a hand on Mac’s back. “Yup. So. No can-do, on the uh, foursome thing, I’m afraid.” 

“Yes,” Mac says, tight-lipped and tense, “And _Dennis_ has AIDS.” 

Dennis turns to Mac so fast his elbow catches his wine glass on the table. It goes crashing to the floor and shatters. “If anyone had AIDS it would be you and you know it,” he says viciously, “You and your filthy little grindr whores.” 

“Well you said I have chlamydia!” Mac shouts, voice cracking. God he’s adorable when his voice cracks. “That wasn’t the plan!”

“There was no plan, you imbecile!” Dennis gets up out of his seat. Katie and John look shell-shocked. Dennis literally does not care at all. “And now half the city of Philadelphia is going to think I have AIDS!” He turns, he storms out. Mac, as always, follows.

“Better than chlamydia!” 

“Chlamydia can be healed! You don’t know anything! I should’ve had you tested before I put your dick in my mouth!”

“You asked for it!”

“We’re going straight to Planned Parenthood, you’re getting tested.”

“Dennis…”

“DON’T SAY A SINGLE WORD ABOUT ABORTION OR I WILL CHOP YOUR DICK OFF AND FEED IT TO YOU.”

\--

“How’d the foursome go?”

3:00pm on a Saturday. Philadelphia, PA.

Mac and Dennis exchange a glance. They’ve spent most of the day in bed destroying each other. Dennis still doesn’t know what this is, and he and Mac still haven’t talked about it, though Mac has tried, of course, but Dennis can’t. There are a lot of things, Dennis is discovering, that he can’t do, or deal with, or think about, and he'd known he was messed up but this is a lot. Somehow he makes Mac McDonald look well-adjusted. Pathetic. Anyway Dennis won’t tell the gang about any of it. Dennis won’t tell them until he’s good and ready. Mac may be terrible at keeping secrets, but he can do it if it’s important, and Mac knows this is important. Mac knows him.

“Ha, ha, Dee,” Mac says. He glances at Dennis again. He takes a sip of his beer. “You know there wasn’t a foursome. I went home and Dennis banged that hot chick. Right, Den?”

“Yes, sir.” Dennis pulse slows. He’s okay. He’s safe. He shrugs. “She was fine. Not exactly my type.” 

“And what exactly is your type,” Dee says with a scowl, flicking him with a wet rag across the countertop. Dennis flinches. He doesn’t look at Mac.

“Brainless,” he says. When Mac smiles, it’s blinding. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> might write a second part where the gang finds out, idk, I am wildly unpredictable. thanks for reading this, sorry again for the homophobia... kids please don't treat yourselves or your partners like this... love yourselves... thanks. I love you for reading. comment and I will love you even more!! <3


End file.
